


Cold

by queen_of_hells_bells



Series: So I got bored... [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And angst, POV who knows?, Sad, There's coffee, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:07:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_hells_bells/pseuds/queen_of_hells_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone (Dean or Cas? I don't know...) is depressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

The coffee sitting across from his is perfect: hazelnut blend, a teaspoon-and-a-half of half and half, three teaspoons of sugar, mixed to a lovely velvety blend color.

He’d made it perfectly every day for the last four months, every morning at seven o’clock, before sitting down and reading the news to the empty chair before him. Every day at seven thirty he would stand, empty the mug out the window, and go to work. 

And every day he would swear to never do it again.

He wished things had gone differently, that he had worked less, that he hadn’t been gone all day every day. He wished he’d made the coffee before, when they were still together. He wished that the last four years had never happened. He wished he’d never been happy, because it’s easier to be down when you’ve never been up. But mostly he wished he could let it go.

Every time he went out he imagined seeing Him, imagined what would happen. Would he be able to say hello like a civilized person? Would he run and hide behind the closest trash can? Would he pick a person at random and pretend to be with them? Would he just stare like a love-struck idiot? What if he saw Them together, would They be happy? Blissful? Shopping like he’d never done with Him?

This was all his fault, he knew. He’d practically driven Him into another man’s arms. He’d never been there, never treated Him right. And now he was trying to make it up to a cup. To a fucking  cup , because he was too much of a coward to just walk over to the apartment barely three blocks away and apologize. Too much of a coward to even do it over the phone.

He looked at the clock, sighed. 7:30. For the first time in four months he didn’t immediately stand, instead dropping his head to the table in a mixture of shame and depression.

The cup of coffee watched him from across the table, judging him silently. Reaching over, he dipped a finger into it’s contents. 

It was cold.


End file.
